Resist
by MrsBeck1208
Summary: Justin asks Brian about a tattoo.


It was one of those perfect days that don't happen nearly often enough. A lazy Sunday spent at the loft with nothing better to do than lounge around with Brian. We ate in, no nosy diner crowd, thank you very much. (It was nothing short of miraculous that none of them came looking for us either.) We curled up together on the couch and watched movies, the other "c" word being strictly forbidden even if that's what we were really doing. We fucked where ever and when ever the mood struck, okay so that part isn't unusual. But most importantly, we talked. We talked about anything and nothing, but it was real conversation. Not Brian Fucking Kinney putting up with his teenage stalker, spouting his bullshit rules and mottos, posturing so no one will think there is even the tiniest crack in his perfectly crafted image. Nope, there was only Brian and Justin in the loft that day. It was wonderful!

The talking was the best part, better than the sex actually, but I'd never tell Brian that or he'd freak. Dozens, no hundreds if we're being honest, of men can say they've had sex with Brian Kinney, but I'm pretty sure that only I can say that I get to wrap myself around him on the couch and talk to him all day. Days like these are mine to treasure and I need them to survive all of the other crap that comes with loving Brian.

Anyway, so there we were snuggling (hey, it wasn't the "c" word!) on the couch, Brian was running his fingers through my hair and I was playing with his hands. I don't think Brian even realizes how much he touches me, but he always manages to touch me in some way, all the time, even when we're out. When we're alone like this, he's usually playing with my hair. I love it, so I'm not about to point it out. He'd probably make it a point to stop doing it just because it doesn't fit his image. Me, I love to touch him and I'm not shy about it at all. I love to touch any part of him, but just then I was playing with his hands. There are so many things I love about his hands, not the least of which is how I feel when they are all over me. But the thing that kept catching my eye that day was his tattoo. Six little letters, one little word, but such a big mystery.

It's not like I hadn't asked before. I asked the very first night I met him and noticed the tattoo. He wouldn't tell me though. All he said that night was "I can't tell you all my secrets, now can I?" I've asked a few other times since and it's always classic Kinney deflection. I've often wondered if anyone knows - if Michael knows. I've thought about asking Michael, but he resents my place in Brian's life just enough that he'd never tell me. He'd see it as a way to remind me of his place in Brian's life. I doubt any of the other guys know or it'd be common knowledge on Liberty Avenue.

I kept looking at our hands together and idly tracing those letters. So obviously put there with planning and forethought. I mean, it just didn't look like the homemade tattoos done on a whim by drunk, high school jocks. I've seen more than a few of those in the locker room at St. James. But why? Why "resist" and why on his middle finger? Didn't that hurt like hell? Don't ask me why I thought this time might be different or why I was willing to risk the wonderful mood we had going, but I took the chance and asked again.

"Brian?" I asked quietly without moving.

"Hmmm." Came the lazy, half asleep reply.

"Why resist?" I could feel a change in his body, like he wasn't half asleep anymore, but he didn't get up and he didn't move. I took this as a good sign, but I still couldn't let out the breath I was holding. After a long pause, I felt him let go of some of the tension in his body and he finally answered. I was both shocked and thrilled.

"Jack Kinney." Wow! I let out the breath I was holding and took a second to process what Brian said and that he was actually letting me behind those famous walls of his for a second.

"Your dad?" I asked carefully. I had no idea how to proceed with this. Brian never talked to me about his family.

"Yeah."

"Why resist though?"

Another long pause. I was sure he was going to stop right there and forget the whole thing.

"He was everything I never wanted to be. He hated everything about me and I hated everything about him."

"Everything?" I so wanted to ask how a father and son can hate everything about each other, but I had a pretty good idea that would shut him down right then and there. It probably would've earned me some snarky comment about how naïve I still am, too.

"Everything, Sunshine." He sounded so weary and hurt and defeated right then that I wanted to hug him forever. Make him feel loved forever. And I would, if he'd let me.

"So you are resisting his life?"

"Yep."

"Are you trying to resist being like him?"

"All the time, Sunshine, all the time."

"I never met your Dad. What was he like?"

"Miserable. He was living a life he didn't want, he felt trapped, and he took it out on the rest of us. Mostly me, but everyone suffered. He didn't like being a husband or a father. He didn't like the job he had. He didn't like anything about his life and we all knew it. He never missed a chance to remind me how much he didn't want me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he told me all the time. Told me all about how he told my mother she needed to have an abortion when she told him she was pregnant with me. Found ways to remind me constantly that I wasn't wanted."

And didn't that explain so much?

"Did your Mom at least make up for it?"

The derisive snort was enough of an answer, but there was more. "Ah, no. There are ice sculptures that are warmer than my mother."

Again, the urge to hold him was so strong, but I knew he wouldn't want me to move. It was easier for him to say these things if I couldn't see his face. If I couldn't see whatever emotions were playing across his face or the look in his eyes.

I was on a roll, so I had to ask a little more.

"So when did you get the tattoo?"

"Not long after high school graduation."

"Did you plan it or was it just a spur of the moment thing?"

"Both really. I had thought about having some kind of a daily reminder of the life I didn't want to lead all through high school. I just hadn't decided what it was going to be. Then one night I was on Liberty alone, for some reason Mikey wasn't with me, and I ended up in a tattoo parlor. I was watching the guy work and he was trying to talk me into getting some crazy tattoo. He said 'come on, you know you can't resist' and right then I knew what I wanted to do."

"You knew you could resist. You'd do everything you could to not be like him."

I allowed myself a tiny second to gloat that Michael wasn't there. I could at least hope that he still didn't know the story behind the tattoo, although the chances were slim. Brian told Michael so much.

"Exactly."

"And the placement?"

"My own personal joke. Flipping Jack the bird every day." I could feel Brian smiling behind me and I knew his mood was changing again.

There were so many more things I wanted to say or ask. This was such a major clue in the mystery that is Brian Kinney, but I knew that talking too much would push him too far and he'd stop talking completely. He would have had the infamous Kinney mask back in place, been out the door and headed for the backroom at Babylon before I could say "Brian and Justin." That he'd said as much as he did was amazing and I still have a hard time believing it. It was truly a day I won't forget in this lifetime - provided there aren't anymore bat-wielding jocks in my future.

His body was relaxed again, so I knew it was as good a time as any to turn around. I could tell this had taken a lot out of him, so I decided to do what we do best. I kissed him and it was a long time before we got off the couch. It was a great Sunday.


End file.
